‘I Built You A Tower’ is the latest, eleventh studio album by indie/alt-rock band Death Cab for Cutie. The band originated in 1997, garnering a cult following and critical acclaim throughout the 2000s whilst pioneering a blend of semi-acoustic emo rock that would become synonymous with the era.
This record sees vocalist Benjamin Gibbard, alongside current bandmates, return to that sound with eleven tracks suspended in a warm glow of nostalgia, encapsulated like ants in amber. Its seeds were sown within the past 3 years, spent touring to mark the 20th anniversaries of albums ‘Transatlanticism’ and ‘Plans’, as well as The Postal Service’s ‘Give Up’ – another collaborative Gibbard project.
Multi-instrumentalist Dave Depper said; “We felt part of this powerful force greater than all of us and went into the studio with a sense of: How can we capture that feeling and put it into something new?”
Opening track ‘Full of Stars’ immediately grounds the record with steady guitar strums into the band’s more pared-down, pre-2010s aesthetic. Gently woven keys attune to Gibbard’s distinctive vocals, as he commands a choir from a few elements. The treasured throughline across decades of Death Cab is this very practice, their ability to harness beauty within a handful of simplistic layers. Their conducted, marching elements pulse with the after-effect of poignant hope that bleeds between each of their records, no matter the - likely brooding - subject matter.
Here, the tale at hand is ruminative, the emotional wiring of Gibbard’s recent divorce. There’s no bitter, brokenhearted lashing out across the tracks, which are instead reflective and retrospective, channelling grief over grievances. Gibbard has built a tower. Now we see it, both gently and with volatility, dismantled – each piece held up to light, as Death Cab soundtracks his scrutiny. It is bared most vulnerably, perhaps, in ‘Punching the Flowers’ – where the resonant imagery of a child’s tantrum, destruction of such delicate beauty, speaks for itself: “It always seemed he was punching the flowers / Ruminating like a fatalist for hours / With a voice like the sound of slamming doors”.
Though the prevailing image of Gibbard’s experience lies within the album’s title, owing to the twin tracks. ‘I Built You A Tower (a)’ is - like the record’s entirety - at its heart, a confession. Aided by a math-rock style riff, the song is frenzied, and he constructs his admission erratically: “I built you a tower / A tower in my mind / A place that no one else / No one else would ever find / Because I needed you / I needed you contained”.
The track builds to something all-encompassing, ravelling listeners in its bitter red thread. One not of anger - perhaps part guilt, part deprecation - that is sewn throughout the record’s structure.
At times, the thread is yanked taut, and the album’s angst seems to interrupt itself – a jagged whiplash between tracks. Gibbard’s tumultuous grief echoes off his tower walls, as listeners become wrapped up in its chaotic frenzy and erosive guitar.
Yet for all its unravelling, the songs remain tethered. In ‘Envy the Birds’, even the most erratic, pounding torment breaks into aching warmth with a needed refrain: “It’s safer where it’s quiet / Speak without words / No one gets hurt”.
The album forgoes abrasive melodrama for a melancholy that feels earned. It deftly offers the antidote for all its push and pull - climax, to pathos, and back again; 29 years as Death Cab has carved a steady boat of lessons learned and trust earned to carry listeners across the tempest.
Eventually, the band sails into ‘A Stone Over Water’ – plunged into tinny, computerised static. All fuzzied edges, the song is stylistically reminiscent of ‘Transatlanticism’s production. To the trained ear, it’s kept afloat by a pleasant sentimentality of the bygone era, as imagery of oppressive fog and skipping stones threatens to pull listeners under.
Its ripples of buzzed-out guitar break out into ‘How Heavenly A State’. The fragile surface is ruptured, stone sunken, as Gibbard sings to his overwhelming mood and “The acceptance of collapsing / Under unspeakable weight”. It’s an ironically apt title; a touch of the divine unfurls from gritty static to glittering arpeggio.
By ‘I Built You A Tower (b)’, the thread is wound tight. As the erosive guitar lapses, there seems an acceptance; the tower has fallen, though its remnants are haunted by the shadowed hurt – even in its closing lines; “I’m learning how to / Live without you / But these ruminations / Are all about you / And it makes me so tired / So tired”.
The record doesn’t unwind into a satisfying conclusion, with no profound revelation – even in the revisited title. However, this absence contains the album’s quiet strength. Rather than stepping into the grandiose, there’s no sensationalism in this story, which remains humbly tethered to the humanity of Gibbard’s experience – fostering a gratifying sense of understanding that makes it worthwhile.
Evie Johnson
Image: ‘I Built You A Tower’ Official Album Cover
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